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Part I. Outlook OF World
Storytelling, mothers, more of good stuff, I wish it would never have to end. Mysterious tales sweeping through our attention, leaving traces of wonder. Grasping it would defeat purpose. Their touch changing us, yet ever so slightly, we return to dullness.
Grove-thinking, worrisome tasks, busy, routine-filled hours, no escape from rumors of doom. All good seems to vanish, where are golden days? What must have happened to innocence? Are there rewards for plain people like us?
Where can one turn with questions on hope and betterment? Is there an answer to why’s of children? Do we pretend, or must it be done just ‘because’? If signs pointed somewhere, guide could appear, need we just look? None of worn-out clues have any meaning. Many have tried fixing before us.
Nowhere so far has it stopped going. Much singing and acting captures all wild things, their edges no longer rough. Evenings not calming, still more in morning. Take it for reasons of sweeter to come. Future? What may it be holding?
Dusk fills horizons of bitter forgetting. Wind elevates trash from seams of town. Dogs passing aimlessly, missing true voices they have known. A siren stops darkness, while food trucks deliver. Doors shut for arousal with ‘tube’ entertainment. Smells escape from hi-tech utensils, steamy, another glow and concern. What must that prize be that we were promised?
Moments of orange follow at morn, that clear whitish blue vaguely tainted from blood. After that precious breeze cleansed with dew of fresh petals, most find renewed method for living. ‘Till thought turns again heavy…